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WAIFS, OR POEMS 
BY BERNARD GRADY 



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NEW YORK 

ROBERT GRIER COOKE 

INCORPORATED 
MDCCCCVII 



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COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY 
ROBERT GRIER COOKE, INC. 



THiRaRY of congress! 

: Two Ccoibs Rocelved 
I JUL 9 190f 3 

tLrtSi CI XXc, No. 







ROBERT GRIER COOKE, INC., NEW YORK 



FOREWORD 

/N this little volume are harvested the first- 
fruits of my Muse, gleaned at very indefinite 
periods within the past sixteen months, with 
the exception of a few early poems; for various- 
dealing Fortune decreed not I should be a child of 
leisure and devote my days according to my choice. 

I partake of the painful uncertainty natural to an 
unheralded intruder into the sacred precincts of 
Parnassus, as to the reception his first efforts may 
receive, and yet am nevertheless hopeful for them, 
and shall appreciate any indulgence my friends and 
the public may extend these youthful labors. 

Till now these thoughts have wrought nothing, nor 
can so long as they repose in the tray of my trunk; but 
henceforth they are the world's, since I assume the 
responsibility of sending them forth, in doing which I 
believe, if no great good is expressed in them, at least 
no evil is. 

I bid them Adieu, believing they will bespeak 
themselves, and charge them to do what good they 
can in their pilgrimage. 

Bernard Edward Grady. 
August 30, 1906. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Grieving May's Departure i 

My Lost Sister ^ 

Return of Spring 4 

The Triumph of Easter 7 

o 

Our Loss 

In Arlington, Sweetly Sleeping JO 

Love's Anomaly '^ 

Fortune or Love? • ^5 

The Sustaining Angel ^7 

When I am Gone ^° 

Would You? ^' 

A Rescued Fly ^3 

Blest of a Woman's Love H 

Your Kiss Abideth ^5 

If the Heart be Good ^" 

Lest It Depart ^7 

Dissolution ^9 

If Each One Did His Part 3° 

Woman 3 

Affairs of the Heart 33 

The Harvest of Delay 34 

This Work 35 

Why Not Let It Slumber 3° 

Till I Met You 3^ 

Why I'm Sad To-day 39 

Burning Your Letters 4° 

vii 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

To Mattie 40 

Using To-day 41 

The Poet .43 

What Is My Life? 45 

Day by Day 46 

Previous Disposition 48 

To His Majesty, the Safety-Pin 49 

What a Man Should Give 50 

Rejoice with Me 52 

Heart Desolation 53 

Those Eyes of Blue 55 

A Passing Face . 56 

Lost 57 

Two Words 60 

Ye Silent Strings 63 

Do WE Die but Once ? 66 

Spectator or Spectacle 69 

A Tribute to Trust 71 

The Dead 74 



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WAIFS, OR POEMS 
BY BERNARD GRADY 



GRIEVING MAY'S DEPARTURE 

Good-by is the word that comes to rest 
Its weight on the heart of the lightest breast; 
And wakens the soul to thought of gloom, 
The word of all words I would entomb. 

The friend that steals from my side away — 
As all do steal — is the lovely May: 
Fair queen of the months, O why depart! 
And leave in regret this mutual heart ? 

So few seem to come with joys as true, 
As shine from the skies of thy deep blue; 
Or gleam from the earth in countless eyes 
And scent all the air where thy way lies. 

Full short was the day of thy sojourn, 
And thoughts of the soul to thee will turn; 
Vain man will recall the solemn truth — 
Thus fleet are the days of love and youth! 

To-day in the flush of the heat and strife, 
Absorbed in aflFairs of this false life. 
To-morrow gone — like the sun that's set, 
O say, like him shall we rise in beauty yet ? 
I 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Sweet May, come again and make us glad, 
Nor stay long away from the Earth so sad, 
O come with the joys you always bring, 
And teach us new songs of praises to sing. 

So soon we too must depart this earth. 
With its oceans of sorrow and rivers of mirth; 
May we also bring joy as the May in her bloom, 
And garner sweet rest past the grave and the tomb. 

May 25, ] 



MY LOST SISTER 

She departed with the summer, 

Departed to a clime 
Where the seasons do not vary, 

Where it's ever Springtime. 

When nature paled and fell asleep. 

In her grave in the earth. 
The sunlight of our home went back 

To Him who gave her birth. 

And fain would we have detained her. 

Had it been our power. 
But the Planter abruptly called, 

And reclaimed the flower. 

2 



BT BERNARD GRADT 



Reclaimed it to fairer gardens, 

In beauty there to bloom, 
And in untainted atmosphere 

DiflFuse its sweet perfume. 

Why, we asked ourselves, 'mid our grief. 
Should she be called so young? 

But were rebuked, as came the thought - 
Thy will, O Lord, be done. 

Although we comprehend not why 
Youth should be thus cut down. 

We know that what is lost in Him 
Shall some sweet day be found. 

We believe we shall meet again 

In a life that succeeds. 
In a day when convened shall be 

All nations and all creeds; — 

That to be called away in youth. 
Pure innocence to vice unknown. 

Gives more promise than tempted age 
Of a seat on Heaven's throne. 

As the poet has truly said, 

"The grave is not life's goal"; 

For beyond that gloomy region 
Else doth await the soul! 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Then sigh thee not, O troubled heart, 
For the spirit that has flown. 

For in a better land it lives, 
Beyond the starry dome. 

To-day, while her dust reposes 

Beneath Linconia's sod. 
Her spirit, ever blessed thought, 

Is resting with its God. 



October^ 1 899. 



RETURN OF SPRING 



Sweet step of Spring, have I thee heard .? 
And comes that music from a bird ? 
Has magic transformed nature's face. 
And called to life what did seem waste ? 
Or do my eyes and ears deceive ? 

Far lighter now doth seem my tread, 
And dulness quick away has fled; 
And life seems new, and oh, how sweet! 
What has performed this wondrous feat? 
For surely I am not deceived ? 

Deceived ? why no, not so, my friend, 
Replies from birds and flowers blend; 
Thou hath not erred, for she is come. 
And trees will bloom and bees will hum. 
And life will conquer death again. 

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BT BERNARD GRADY 



We come to sound no false alarms, 
With her that gives to life new charms, 
Alone come we to do a part 
In making happy mortal heart; 
No longer doubt that Spring is come. 

Foretelling her return again, 

Since thus you speak my doubts do end. 

You flee the thought that I'm unwise 

By error of my ears or eyes, 

And glad am I that I am not. 

Again, mild one, thou art come back; 
Awak'ning nature marks thy track. 
By landscapes dead, now fair and green, 
And dreary days now bright, serene, 
Which wake the heart to glad response. 

The birds sing carols 'mid the trees, 
And fragrance fills the balmy breeze; 
The air with dainty music rings. 
Such as comes not from courts of kings, 
For God's musicians sound their notes! 

Once more the sap has upward crept. 
And plant life wakes — enough has slept; 
Awakes to life, though it be brief. 
Yet life, since Spring in sweet relief 
Is come with blessings so divine. 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Dare ye to say there is no God 
Who wields o'er all His mighty rod ? 
To nature look and get her proof 
Unto this great and living truth, 
That more than man hath done all this! 

Instinct alone enough affords, 
To trust in Him Who season's cords 
Can strike at will to death and gloom, 
Or better yet, to life and bloom; 
Which deeds defy the will of man. 

Fair youth, behold a lesson true. 
The Spring of Life belongs to you; 
Fresh now that life and undefiled, 
On it has Heaven sweetly smiled, 
Nor turned away because of Sin. 

In spring's bright days the husbandman 
Lets seed that's sound fall in his land, 
And waits to see a worthy yield 
Of grain, from that sound-seed sown field. 
When comes the merry harvest time. 

But having placed therein the seed. 
He keeps the youthful plant from weed; 
Keeps fresh the soil about the roots, 
That harvest days may find the fruits 
Matured, and from corruption free. 

6 



BY BERNARD GRADT 



If you would reap a harvest rife, 

Be careful of that Spring of Life; 

Then mould the thoughts! then guide the acts! 

And set their feet on upward tracks, 

That terminate at Heaven's gate. 

So keep bright Springtime in your heart 
Through winter's gloom and sorrow's smart; 
And in thy weakness look above. 
The Seat of Strength, the Seat of Love, 
Will be your all sufficient aid. 

Mayy I goo. 

THE TRIUMPH OF EASTER 

The Lord arose on Easter Day; 

O Jew, defiance to thy deed! 
He rose His slayers to redeem. 

And for all sin to intercede. 

Defeat, O grave! He burst thy bonds, 

And came the victor o'er Death, 
To prove that man who rightly lives 

May live beyond his mortal breath. 

O Sin, defeat! thy rule is broke. 

In Resurrection man has hope; 
The light now shines — the night recedes. 

And in the dark no more we mope. 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



The gloom that settled o'er the land, 

When undeserving death He bore 
By hand of man, for sin of man. 

Is now dispelled forevermore. 

Because He rose, I too, shall rise; 

The gloomy grave cannot retain 
Its burden longer than the burst 

Of that immortal trumpet strain. 

Then I v^ill rise, and to my Lord 

In triumph I shall take my v^ay; 
And round the throne I'll praise Him e'er 

Because He rose on Easter Day. 

Aprily 190] 

OUR LOSS 

A thunder-bolt has fallen on 

America; both far and near. 
And wrought by its ill-starred descent, 

A loss which Earth cannot repair. 

Vain hope! that led us to believe 

That Providence would heal his wound, 

For heart-born words sent up to God 
Did not receive their much-craved boon. 

The news that flashed across the wires 
Each day spoke him recovering, 

8 



BT BERNARD GRADT 



But human skill saw not the hand 
Of Death about him hovering. 

Thus hope was up till Friday night, 
And then did skill claim its defeat; 

The stimulants no longer served 
To make his noble heart to beat. 

Again the wires announced the news, 
So sad that fondest hope was fled, 

And trusting souls broke down at these 

Heart-rending words, "Our Chief is dead"! 

And shall we ask why this should be. 

And murmur at his loss I pray ? 
Or with the slumberer in Christ 

Humbly admit, *Tt is God's way.'* 

Not once did he complain to go. 
He was prepared to cross the span, 

No fears did haunt his parting hour. 
He lived and died a Christian man. 

Well had he won all life can give 
To him who climbs nor idle waits. 

And with a grateful people's love 

Triumphant passes through the Gates. 

O God, Thou Comforter Supreme! 
Console his kin and his dear wife, 

9 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



For whom he rallied e'en in Death, 
And comforted — last act in life. 

Console Thou her, an invalid, 

Whose grief a nation duly shares, 
And whisper in her stricken ear, 

"We'll meet beyond this Vale of Tears." 

And do Thou guide the sturdy one 

Who sadly undertakes to steer 
The Ship of State, whose Captain dead 

We mourn with Sorrow's bitter tear. 

And in its present upward path. 

Give him the grace to guide it on. 
Which will, when he shall quit the helm. 

Place him where Love and Fame doth crown. 

September 23, 190] 



IN ARLINGTON, SWEETLY SLEEPING 

Fair heights above the stream 

That flows in beauty on, 
A right fit resting-place are ye, 

With green and grassy lawn, 

For those within thy grounds, 

Who sleep the years away; 

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BT BERNARD GRADT 



Whose ev'ry grave, with loving hearts, 
We gladly deck to-day. 

Again the flowers come, 

The noble work to aid, 
As if against the sacred time 

Their journey had been made. 

Long years the union men 

Alone slept in thy grounds; 
But sad events of nearer years 

Are marked by new-made mounds. 

About thy elder beds 

More heroes we have lain — 

The victims of another strife. 
For sufF'ring brothers slain. 

Together there they lie, 

Cut down by war's ill breath; 

The North, the South, the blue, the gray, 
No longer foes in Death! 

No war-cry more will come, 

No sound will rouse their sleep, 

Nor stealthy scout from foeman's rank 
By Angel sentry creep. 

His watch will steadfast be 
Above that camp so still, 

II 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Until the trumpet call shall wake 
The dead of vale and hill. 

To these, America, 

Your station proud you owe; 
In danger's hour who forward sprang 

And crushed the awful foe. 

O Liberty, salute 

Thy each sustaining son, 
Who gave his all and laid it by — 

The course he'd scarce hegun! 

O Seat of Government, 

An honor that they sleep 
Thy portals nigh, to mind us of 

The blood-bought trust we keep. 

Sleep on, and take your rest, 

In Jesus sleep, and trust 
The proper keeping of your graves 

To grateful ones — to us. 

May 20, 1902. 



LOVE'S ANOMALY 

The way of Life would dreary be. 
Devoid of all its joy and bloom, 

A state of happiless degree — 

A cheerless stretch unto the tomb; 

12 



Br BERNARD GRADT 



But, favored soul, a gift was thine, 
Whose magic name I scarce need call, 

Since gladly known to most mankind. 
To ward away this threat'ning pall. 

Two lives I've seen forever blest 

By love's sweet spell which made them one; 
And through all trials have stood the test. 

Serenely stood — till life was done. 
And when the shadow fell at last, 

And Death's lone valley opened wide, 
This love of Earth, about to pass. 

Foretold the sweets beyond the tide. 

Two more I've seen, where Death stole in 

And tore away the mutual heart. 
And from the soul's it might have been. 

No ray of hope but did depart; 
And starless night her curtain drew. 

And over softly smiling skies 
A somber cloud its mantle threw. 

And reigned the pain that never dies. 

Yet Death, thy work is mild to this — 
The cruelest fate to which man's heir, 

To feel the fires of Eros' bliss. 

His soul enflame with fullest share. 

Whose object ne'er can rouse in turn 
That love which doth his heart enslave, 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



And ever must his spirit burn, 
Beyond the balm of Earth to lave. 

O Love! why art thou so unkind ? 

Thou joy-crowned! why bring us woe? 
Affection why so oft to bind 

To hearts that shed no kindred glow ? 
Why wreck a life which thou couldst make ? 

O why! anomaly supreme ? 
What ghastly pleasure canst thou take 

In shatt'ring man's ethereal dream ? 

O echoes of the Nile, awake, 

And lend my ear your mournful tale; 
Ye mighty sphinx, in trembling shake. 

The cry is Cleopatra's wail! 
A serpent's fang was sweeter meat 

Than life without her Antony; 
And Egypt's throne far less could treat, 

With all its claims for life, than he. 

Nor is respect to classes shown. 

Thou dealest with each human soul; 
And Egypt's queen stands not alone 

Upon thy ghastly honor roll. 
Come not my way, if thou wouldst sow 

Within my heart this bitterness. 
Pass on, nor let me ever know 

The awful sting thou dost possess! 

April 21, 1905. 

14 



BT BERNARD GRADT 



FORTUNE OR LOVE? 

A fate unkind once came between 
Two lovers and their brightest dream; 
The future which seemed brightly theirs 
Threw off her smile and bathed in tears. 

The maid refused to leave her home, 
In wedded Hfe afar to roam, 
For Fortune called the youth away, 
While Love would have him ever stay. 

He could remain and know Love's bliss. 
At cost of worldly fortune's miss. 
But Fortune played his clouded eyes; 
Pursuit of her appeared more wise. 

For chance of earthly fortune gave 
The rarest pearl this side the grave; 
And she to Wisdom played the fool, 
O what home ties — true love to rule ? 

The trees near where they parted told 
To me one eve, when forth I strolled. 
The trembling words the stars and they 
In anguish heard that fateful day. 

The youth spoke first, and Nature paused 
As if reversed some hand her laws, 

15 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



And Gods of Night came near and wrote, 
On fadeless scroll, the words I quote. 

"When in your eyes no more I slake 
Love's thirsting glance, my heart will break. 
In years to come, with spirit gone, 
I'll plod my dreary course along. 

"And when Death comes, transporting me 
To lands where dwells no agony. 
With joy I'll don his dreaded mask, 
And quit me of this weary task. 

" For such is Life, your love without, 
To mitigate each fear and doubt, 
To make the troubled wave seem smooth. 
And sharpest pang as balm to soothe." 

In vain the list'ner tried to speak. 
And colorless was all her cheek; 
Forth from her side he calmly went. 
And Night her sighing breezes lent. 

And Fortune came, but what its worth, 
Companioned by Affection's dearth .? 
And oft he wished he*d stayed behind 
In lesser state — with Love entwined. 

When years were gone — in twilight's hour 
A maiden sat within her bower, 

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BT BERNARD GRADT 



And mused on days when Life to her 
An object held without a peer. 

And as the past came swiftly up, 
She drank again the bitter cup; 
And looking on the evening star, 
Her heart again felt all its fire. 

But Discipline, full cold and stem. 

Now bade her mind such thoughts to spurn, 

To bravely bear the lot she'd cast. 

Nor live again within the past. 

And as Life drew him to a close. 
In wakeless sleep they sought repose; 
Each, from the other, laid afar. 
To tune of Fate's pathetic lyre. 

O hearts that love, let fam'ly ties. 
Nor naught besides, between arise. 
But claim your own, nor know the wage 
No other claim can e'er assuage! 

May 6, 1905. 

THE SUSTAINING ANGEL 

Partakers of life that mortals know. 

The present ye have — the future's before; 

The past is gone, and many bemoan 

The use they've made of the days that are flown. 

17 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



And yet they mean sometime to reform, 
For vicious man in his wildest career 
In hours resolves, and the breast grows warm, 
At thoughts which bring to the eye a tear. 

Sometimes there falls 'cross the way he goes 
A whisper that speaks of peace and repose, 
And yielding him up to this kind friend. 
His wayward ways he seeks to amend. 
The call he had heard, but in his despair 
Had deem'd it a demon to mock his plight, 
And fled at its sound as the hound-chased hare; 
But still it came — dismissing his night. 

Within the dark walls of a prison cell 

An innocent lay and thought it was well; 

Griev'd law had ordain'd his life should redress 

A crime which the actor did not confess. 

I say, to the last, by unseen arms upborne. 

He felt that the right must finally win; 

His friends gave him joy where they meant to mourn, 

For the guilty came to answer his sin. 

Ye toilers whose efforts have been your best,' 

Ye living and ye who have gone to your rest. 

How could you struggle on, nor pause, 

When your labors met not man's applause ? 

Did a voice seem to say some coming age 

Of sounder thought would adjudge their worth, — 

i8 



BT BERNARD GRADT 



Would place your names on the rolls of the sage, 
And crown your deeds 'round the fam'ly hearth ? 

A conqueror comes whose name is Fate, 

On whose wild caprices all things wait; 

But only a moment last his defeats, 

In vict'ry he trembles — he turns — and retreats! 

O bosom! as fast as he wrecks thy domain. 

And strews long thy track some grief, 

Hope e'er is nigh to whisper again, 

"Some future will bring you desired relief." 

Whate'er disappointment bedims man's dreams, — 

A common fruition that follows, it seems; 

At thy sweet sigh away floats the cloud. 

The soul flings oflP its impotent shroud, 

The temporal day becomes less a charm 

To dazzle the soul and rob it of life; 

At last we flee from the false and its harm, 

To the perfect joy, whose parent is strife! 

Sweet Angel of Hope, when Life's light fades, 
And flickers out in the Vale's deep shades. 
Make haste thy bark to the Evening Shore, 
As a final service to row me o'er; 
Thy cheering presence no more I'll need. 
To caress a wound or banish a sigh. 
Where spirits ne'er wake to pain and bleed. 
And the days of repining for aye are by. 

May 1 6, 1905. 

19 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



WHEN I AM GONE 

Some future day, when I am gone, 

I wonder will the world go on; 

Or if its course and mission will 

Abruptly stop nor be fulfilled ? 

I would not have all men to know 

This probably impending woe, 

Which might disturb their peace of mind. 

And thus become in me unkind. 

So I dismiss the serious thought, 

For much of worry has it wrought; 

And try to hope that after all 

Through space will swing the same old ball. 

I pray the dwellers on its face 

Will make of it a better place. 

And may the years that outlive me 

Advance the race in harmony! 

Methinks when in the tomb I lay, 
I'll wake to hear what men will say, — 
To hear the false who played me friends, 
As if deceptive were my lens. 
Unfold the weak, dispar'ging traits, 
So passive at the hands of Fates, 
Right char'tibly my deeds to do, 
As grants the weakest point of view. 
20 



BY BERNARD GRADT 



And yet are they whose Hves touched mine 
And both were blessed and brighter shinedj 
Some kindly act may be was done, 
Unseen to eyes of most who run, 
And He who knows how best to praise 
The things that round out earthly days, 
A gallant hero took me down. 
And placed a jewel in my crown. 

So build your monuments, old Earth, 
To speak thy sons of manly worth, — 
The few with deeds by chance revealed; 
But leave unsung the larger field. 
Content are they none can deny 
Their obelisks will be as high. 
When dawns, at last, adjustment's day, 
And each receive their righteous pay. 

May 17, 1905. 

WOULD YOU? 

I would not wound a heart — would you ? 
'Tis such an unkind thing to do; 
A heart with brightly burning fires. 
That burn when Death itself expires; 
And whose enduring flame began 
When you stooped nigh — its glow to fan; 
A heart that knew you but in trust, 
O better had the sword been thrust! 

21 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



We long may live and cause much pain, 
Our crimes may make our days a stain, 
May cause a loving God to frown, 
And cast our ransom'd spirits down; 
But scarce can they attain a place 
That will redound to less of grace 
Than slighting thought or word or deed, 
For which some heart will keenly bleed. 

I hold it equal to the worst. 
Immortal man can call accursed! 
And sooner had I led the French, 
To Moscow's fires they could not quench, 
And let them perish in the snows. 
While fleeing from the city's woes, 
Than plunge in tears a heart of love, — 
The sweetest gift all else above! 

The trait'rous Greek for whom there died 

Leonidas — fair Sparta's pride! 

And all his band of faithful souls, 

One infamy no more claim holds! 

And through the ages I might tell 

Of ghastly deeds that would repel, 

Yet be unable to impart 

A parallel to wound of heart. 



May 19, 1905. 



22 



Br BERNARD GRADT 



A RESCUED FLY 

Why came ye here without your sphere ? 

But man oft goes to court his woes, 

And should not blame in thee the same. 

Thy brother now just bit my brow, 

But ril not by and see thee die; 

From treach'rous cup I bear thee up. 

He who made me also did thee. 

And me He gave life past the grave; 

Beyond the Earth ye know no birth. 

I, too, once fell, and Christ beheld 

My helpless state, and ere 'twas late. 

With outstretched arm drew me from harm; 

But His life gave my own to save. 

In saving thine I give not mine; 

I know no price or sacrifice. 

No thorns, no nails, no midnight wails; 

No blood, no tear, no sepulcher! 

I am not safe; at times I chafe. 

On danger's brink to stoop and drink; 

If some swift tide should reach my side 

And bear me where no help is near. 

As this poor fly so should I die. 

But I believe He will relieve 

My fainting soul where'er it roll. 

May 26, 1905. 



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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



BLEST OF A WOMAN'S LOVE 

Me, in the gift of your Love do you bless, 
Till of the measure no words can express; 
Scarce can I b'lieve I am honored thus much, 
What in myself such a passion could touch ? 

Know ye the heart you have given to me ? 
Think to another it never will flee ? 
Woman is fickle, and often unwise, 
Calling as Love a brief fancy that dies. 

Yet I am willing to take it as true, 
B'lieve thou art guileless as morning's own dew; 
For you've agreed to embark in my keeping, 
Taste of my joy and indulge in my weeping. 

Kingdoms of Earth, I prefer me to rule 
Realm of her heart though I sat on a stool, 
Than to be wielder of powers you hold, 
If at the cost of her life's least control. 

Riches ne'er smiled long the track of my years 
Ere she bestowed the rich love that is hers; 
Nor can you rank with the fortunes of men. 
Wealth of the type that is mine to the end. 

Thou who hast sent such a treasure my way 
May I protect it from going astray, 

24 



Br BERNARD GRADT 



Feed it on food that its nature doth crave, 
Keep it from knowing transfer — or the grave. 

Blasts of the North not again can ye harm, 
Sun of the Summer become over warm; 
Ills have known flight on the wings of some dove. 
Left me secure in a woman's deep Love. 



June II, 1905. 

YOUR KISS ABIDETH 

Dear, do you mind that kiss you implanted. 

In the beautiful days that are gone, 
When parting I stood there enchanted, 

And dreamed of a time too delicious to dawn ? 

A spirited kiss! a passionate meeting 

Of lips that united in a holy embrace; 
With a rapture unwonted my heart was beating. 

And deeply the blush stole up to your face. 

Just to tease, your head you turned to the side, 
By way of protecting the loveliest of portals, 

And again and again my efforts denied, 

At last to resign most submissive of mortals. 

And oh, the sweet vision my heart conjured up! 

It hallowed the future and gladdened its years; 
But cold-hearted Fate changed the draft of my cup, 

And where I supped nectar has left me but tears. 

25 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



In your beauty and grace I knew a delight 

Which scarcely again to my heart shall unfold, 

And worshiped as truly as ever did knight 
In the lost and chivalrous ages of old. 

But reasons so sacred my heart them must hold. 
Unkindly enshrouded this dream of our bliss; 

And yet till in Death they are rigid and cold, 
My lips shall repine for another such kiss. 

June 15, 1905. 

IF THE HEART BE GOOD 

The years have reflected this truth to my soul — 

That men, at the best, are creatures of mood; 
Oft given to skirt Equanimity's bowl, 

From the dish of Life's rubs to partake their food. 
In vain may they strive not to yield the fight, 

When trifling events annoy the good will. 
For who is strong when Perverseness would blight .'' 

Alas, that his reign should govern us still! 

Since Eden no more is mortal's sweet lot, 

On the calmest soul some ripples stir; 
The serenest blood will in times grow hot, 

To prove of the animal man is a share. 
The wounds he inflicts when his pets inthrall. 

Are happ'lessly born of a happiless mood; 
I think we would learn to forgive them all 

If, searching the heart, we found it was good. 

26 



Br BERNARD GRADY 



When our friends forget sometimes to be sweet, 

And recklessly do unlovely things, 
If we will recall each manly feat, 

And not fight back — their moods will take wings. 
I hold it is wrong to condemn as mean 

The lives that offend while swayed by a mood; 
And odorous flowers we Pilgrims might glean. 

In forgetting a hurt when the heart is good. 

We cannot afford in a life so short. 

Our tempers to lose for a moment's length, 
Embitt'ring the days that should be fraught 

In gathering Love and Beauty and Strength; 
For like unto winds that disturb some bay. 

And seduce the native calm for awhile, 
Will the strife nursed of men fly away. 

And the grave give back the buried smile. 

June 22, 1905. 

LEST IT DEPART 

Death, thou dread retainer on Time, 
Thou whom I've shunned — I loudly call; 
To-night will explore thy wildest hall. 
Too sweet this hour — too near sublime! 

1 feel some pain its pleasure will mar, 
And give it the flight of a falling star. 

Without it care I not to live 

The days vain memory would bring, 

27 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



To which the merest shades could cling 

Of what its presence once did give. 

I'd fly a future immersed of tears, — 

Of sufF'ring for that which no more appears. 

I trust to chance no duplicate, 

Lest it should die, I'd die me first, 

O Death, I adore thee whom I've cursed! 

Importune thee lest thou be too late; 

And if e'er kind, as some would say, 

From this sweet scene enfold me away. 

But hark! I hear an Angel say, 

"Thou timorous soul it may not be. 

From Life's mingled lot thou canst not flee, 

Upon its stage each part must play! 

Nor do joys bloom forever of life, 

Thy spirit must needs be known to strife. 

"Tis wicked to wish for premature Death, — 

Afraid of what the future hath 

To strew along the unknown path, 

Afraid regrets will tinge its breath; 

— To lull the heart with its rapture at noon, 

Though Mercy demand indefinite swoon. 

"Of Life 'tis apart — go meet thy fate; 
A sorrow but addeth a deeper tone, 
In touching a life where joys have blown, 
28 



BT BERNARD GRADY 



And beneath its cross springs much that's great; 

Live on, and discipline thy soul 

If it stays or flees — this joy you hold." 

July 2, 1905. 

DISSOLUTION 

Some morn my pen I'll lay aside, 
Among these scenes no more to bide, 
Will bid farewell unto my Muse, 
And mingle with the dust and dews; 
That which struck awe to eyes of men, 
The meanest worm shall conquer then. 
And passions which my bosom swell, 
The falling clods shall sound your knell. 

And then my Soul so long confined, 

And made to dwell 'mid passions wild, 
These alien cords shall cease to bind 

Your life to things that would beguile; 
Then thou shalt know thy true abode. 

Which in thy visions thou hast seen. 
When throwing off thy mortal load 

Thou dar'dst to peep beyond the screen. 

Yet there be creeds which men would claim 

Are founded on the truest rock, 
Supported of Christ's holy name. 

Whose attributes they grossly mock. 
29 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



They tell us some immortal Souls 

Shall be forever burned of fire, 
While some shall reach the Heavenly goals, 

And bliss eternally acquire. 

I feel, if waking 'mid that weal, 

I find some whom I love amiss, 
By whose fair sides I might not kneel, 

And claim them with a long-lost kiss, — 
That in some hopeless other state, 

Where nothing reigns but keen despair. 
Their paths had known an opening gate, — 

No fullest joy could be my share! 

For all their creeds I not believe 

That God thus deals with Souls of men; 
His Love is mighty to reprieve. 

And He will exercise it then. 
We all are creatures of His will. 

And equal in His eyes appear; 
The Love that made will keep us still. 

And no discrimination share. 

July 5, 1905. 



IF EACH ONE DID HIS PART 

If each one did his separate part 
There'd be no overburdened heart. 
No brother sink beside the road, 

3° 



Br BERNARD GRADT 



Because he bore a double load. 

This would mean duty to all men 

As duty comes within our ken, 

And if her laws we did not break, 

To few regrets our hearts would wake. 

There is that in us which would do 

This honest part if we were true; 

Man erreth not through lack of sight, 

In knowing which of ways is right, — 

Because he stoppeth not to think 

Of what great purpose he's a link, 

Which has a pressure to sustain 

As great as any in the chain. 

But for a blunder some one made 

There ne'er had charged the Light Brigade; 

That fatal day of Waterloo, 

When great Napoleon withdrew, 

Might not have been had Blucher's speed 

Been equal to the hour's need. 

Tis true this part no fame may bring, 

And we may court its charming ring; — 

Earth's honors are but fleeting things. 

To which no lasting flavor clings, — 

As fickle as they who bestow 

The flow'ry gariand on thy brow, 

And may be ere its blossoms pale, 

Thy right to wear it will assail. 

My wish would be to do my share. 

No matter what its burdens were, 

31 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



So none might weep or suffer pain 
Because my yoke on them had lain; 
And dying bed will softer lay, 
If thus I close my earthly day. 

August 12, 1905, 

WOMAN 

A woman has inspired my best wrought deeds, 
And any heights I've climbed I climbed for her; 

Her heart have found the sweetest of all creeds. 
To win her smile to me was action's spur. 

No eloquence of man like it could stir! 

And yet when she an evil angel came, 

My soul forgot all good it ever knew; 
If she could sin I scarce could see the shame. 

And sweet the sin I stooped with her to woo, — 
I sometimes think almost too sweet to rue. 

Had I to good account the moments turned. 
That in her witching presence I have spent, 

I know that higher heights I might have earned, — 
But doubt if I would be the more content; 

And what I thus have missed do not repent. 

I pray that she will always come my way, 
And shape my life as she has heretofore. 
And I will share with her my fullest day, 

32 



BY BERNARD GRADT 



And if I reach a star she too shall soar; 
With her I have no fear of what's before. 

O woman! when I close my earthly days, 
May thy sweet tones be last to greet my ear. 

Let thy fair face adorn my dying gaze, 
Until the gath'ring shadows it shall blur, 

And Heaven dawns; — than thee alone more fair! 

August 19, 1905. 

AFFAIRS OF THE HEART 

If affairs of the heart run smoothly along. 

What a diff'rence it makes in this life that we live! 
How it lightens the tasks that the hours give. 

And makes the world seem a bower of song. 

For who may be sad when loved and in love ? 

Are not the emotions all subject to one .? 

Dependent on which as the planets the sun. 
If the life of the heart in harmony move. 

But Love is bound by no law to stay 
And control the passions productive of woe, 
Unless of himself full measure he know; 

In all the world he takes no other pay. 

Let Love depart, and the ballast power is gone, 
The scenes it softened are strenuous now, 
And droops the head that disdained to bow; 

Like a ship without rudder, the heart flounders on, 

33 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Tis this — if a wish you'd have from me, 
May ever the things of thy heart go well; — 
May Love therein full largely dwell, 

And the burdens of life will rest lightly on thee. 

September 3, 1905. 
THE HARVEST OF DELAY 

Not even Sleep will come and save 

My soul awhile from pain. 
And call it from its fond hope's grave, 

Where ling'ring is in vain. 
I followed where Ambition led. 

And bade me win the world. 
And while I rushed on in his tread 

I loved a winsome girl. 

I spoke no word of love to her; 

I meant to make it known, 
And little dreamed my doom so near. 

The chance so nearly flown! 
While I was winning what is naught, 

Unless her love adorn, 
A wiser one the rosebud sought, 

And left me but the thorn! 

She is another's; yet I feel 

My love for her is fresh and strong, 

34 



BY BERNARD GRADT 



And nightly when in pray'r I kneel, 

I wish her life a song. 
It may be wrong to love her now, 

If so, I sin each day; 
Alas! two hearts to one should bow, 

For one in grief must pay. 



September lo, 1905. 



THIS WORK 



It is a joy 

Which should alloy. 
The sternest toil we meet to-day. 

To know it true. 

This work we do 
Is unreceptive to decay. 

For good or ill 

It ever will 
A certain cognizance receive; 

For action live 

And char'cter give 
To deeds the future will achieve. 

There lived a race 
Whose work we trace 
In the time-enduring pyramid; 
Some unborn day 

35 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Will homage pay 
To us, whose work no less can be hid. 

These hands that rear 

Must soon forbear, 
And fold themselves in final pause; 

But what they raise 

Abides all days — 
Immune from Time's ephem'ral laws! 

All that is wrought 

Is first a thought, 
Within the mind first had its form; 

And that is why 

It may not die. 
For Death the mental cannot harm. 

And men alone 

By works are known; 
All we may be in them shall show: 

And truth they tell. 

If ill or well, 
Their measure we cannot forego. 

September 1 7, 1905. 

WHY NOT LET IT SLUMBER 

Why should you come my way and stir afresh 
The fires of that all most extinguished passion, 

36 



BY BERNARD GRADY 



Which through these months I've labored hard to crush, 
And teach the painful lesson of submission ? 

Full long I starved it and deemed it must be dead; 
Ah! what else can endure such time without food ? 

As tenacious as Byron's, I find it had not fled; 
By a single glance its vigor was renewed. 

Only a look — what power could it yield 

To add fresh fuel to the smoldering flame, 
Which deep in rriy heart I thought I had concealed, 

In a stubborn eff"ort to defeat its claim ? 
We are told to starve by way of disposition, 

A passion to which disappointment is given, , 
But virtueless I hold the proflPered prescription, — 

In fairness of test its fallacy have proven. 

The pang of hopeless love is that it remains 

To sadden and lessen the fullest after hour; — 
To dull the ear to Music's noblest strains. 

Or blind the eye to Beauty's witching power. 
'Twere merciful if the heart could love again, — 

Could forget by whom its passion was undone, 
And bow to one of the many in the train 

Of hearts its fervor could have easily won. 

And yet that life will aspire to approach the worth 
Of a love the heart has entertained in vain. 

And the new ideals which thus acquire their birth 
Must surely prove the nature's gen'ral gain; 

37 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



So Love cannot be fruitless; it must reward 

Whoever lets it enter in his heart; 
From its encounter we may turn away scarred, 

But of the Universe a nobler part! 

September 28, 1 905. 

TILL I MET YOU 

Not always seemed the world so bright as now — 
There was a time when days were much the same, 

Beyond whose tasks to soothe my weary brow 
No real sufficient object could I name. 

To dull existence I had learned to bow 
And thought my heart incapable of flame; 

But, dear, there came a day when I met you, / 

And life addressed herself to me anew. 

I had not lived till then, for life pertains 

To days whose passing records growth of soul; 

I knew you but to strive for higher planes. 
And purpose came to combat sin's control; 

My heart attuned itself to joyous strains. 

And moments breathed with interest manifold. 

O, had I known you earlier, those years 

Had not been wasted, dear — not shed these tears! 

I know if love for you had touched me not. 

Much less of good my nature had revealed; 
I should have striven less to raise my lot; 

38 



BY BERNARD GRADT 



lo best in me has God, through you, appealed; 
And my old self lies buried on the spot 

Whence thou appeared; and most its wounds are healed. 
The sum of all the years my past life knew 
Meant less than one, since I met you. 

October 17, 1905. 



WHY FM SAD TO-DAY 

Why am I sad to-day ? canst thou not guess, 
Dear Evelyn ? for thou art good at such. 

And knowest somewhat this moody heart, beside; 
Whose varied feelings I've confided much, 
Because a common cord they seemed to touch; 

Then try, and if thou fail I will confess. 
" Perhaps some dreamed-of fame has been denied .? 

Some friend proved faithless to the name .'' 
The motive of some impulse been belied .? 

Or does that painful knowledge urge its claim — 
Of something loved which cannot long abide.?'* 

'Tis that; I'm sad that summer's end is nigh, 

And though she comes again with charms as great 

I'm not consoled, for not as now this heart will be; 
Some freshness shall be lost beneath the weight 
Of seriousness that fading hopes create. 

And when she spreads again before my eye 
Some loved ones may be lost to time and me, 

39 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Whose presence gave a charm to dullest things, 
Or heightened that of flower, sky, or tree; 

And thus the joy I find in what she brings 
Shall nevermore attain the same degree. 

October 27, 1905. 

BURNING YOUR LETTERS 

Too sweet, too tender, to burn, are they, — 
These words you penned in fancy's sway, 
Thinking close to the heart they lay; 

And yet are they but painful fetters 
Of a ling'ring passion that should be dead, — 
That should, as the summer that gave it, have fled. 
And this is a source on which it has fed, — 

These false and vainly-treasured letters! 

Once more let me read them, once more their lines trace. 
As we turn again to the sleeper's face. 
Ere the grave engulfs its beauty and grace; 

Thus would I view once more these letters. 
And calmly then will I watch the flame 
Devour your thoughts, and even your name! 
Nor any more your fickleness blame. 

But forget it all in the fate of these fetters. 

November 17, 1905. 

TO MATTIE 

Most lovely didst thou appear to-night. 
But not for me those eyes shone bright, 
40 



BY BERNARD GRADT 



As if 'twere Love that gave them light; 

And yet not Love — since your fickle heart 

Could scarce be pierced by Cupid's dart, 

But finds delight in the empty game 

To which flirtation owes its name. 

More beautiful thou than Juliet! 

Whose charms by thine had quickly set; 

And hadst thou been a Capulet's guest. 

With thee his suit had Romeo prest, 

And the great love tale of Shakespearian fame 

Had made thy own its heroine's name. 

But I forget — scarce were it fair 

Such varied hearts to thus compare, 

And with you there, that tragic end 

To their young lives had never been; 

His love you had taken not to re-give. 

Nor Juliet had ceased to live. 

I wish you had been there, then I 

Had saved myself full many a sigh. 

Fair Lady, success I give to thy art. 

But weep for the day when thy surfeited heart 

Shall tire of its game and seek in vain 

To arouse a feeling of a tender strain. 

If then I be near, but let mie know. 

If comfort I can bring to thy woe, 

But alas! I fear a heart thus waste, 

For the joys of life has lost all taste. 

November 1 8, 1 905. 
41 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



USING TO-DAY 

Another day! oh, may I strive, 

While yet it stays to be alive, — 

To waste no more the pregnant hours 

By trifling with my various powers. 

Allotted me to cultivate and use. 

And not to stifle by abuse. 

Some days were lost before I learned 

What energies within me burned; 

I longed for strength to accomplish things. 

While in me slept the hidden springs 

Of force, untapped; — enough to dispose 

Of any task life might disclose. 

As the cocoon bursts at length his shell, 

So man throws off his lethargic spell, 

And to-day is here! and I am strong 

To face whate'er it brings along. 

To know how to use it — is knowledge supreme; 

The solution of life's problem, I deem. 

It contains some needs so very great, 

A morrow cannot compensate; 

A word to-day may urge some on 

When from their bosoms hope has gone, — 

May relieve the heart that breaks to-morrow 

Beneath the burden of its sorrow. 

The wretch whose deeds had cast him down. 

Might not repose beneath yon mound. 

If I had stooped and helped to raise 

42 



BT BERNARD GRADT 



Him from the level of his ways; 
But all the tears I now may shed 
Shall call him not from his lowly bed. 
It passes but once along my way, 
Then let me make it all I may, — 
Deferring not its tasks till to-morrow, 
For days from days should never borrow, 
Since each is too full of its own affairs 
To make up what another defers. 

November 28, 1 905. 

THE POET 

Do you wonder he bends above the flower so long, 
Nor mindeth the presence of the passing throng; 

Or what can so win him in the song of the bird, 
Whose melody no cord in thy heart has stirred; 

Why steals he away to walk by the murmuring shore, 
As though its waves imparted some tangible lore; 

What charm he can see in the ruin'd and broken arch 
Which perished nations rear'd to Glory's march; 

In musing on which his eyes with tears are filled. 
And the heart throbs wildly and will not be stilled ? 

Thou canst perceive no cause for such emotion 
As oft perturbs his soul like winds the ocean. 

43 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



In the lowly life of insects interest he finds, 
You deem it but an idle employment of minds. 

So the author of the Chambered Nautillus discerns 
Material for a poem of deepest concerns; 

From the nature of this strange denizen of the sea 
He gathered a lesson of immortality! 

On the stars of heaven thou hast seen him gaze, 
As though his soul would mingle with their rays; 

And in such abstract moments o'er his face 
Unwonted expression thou hast seemed to trace. 

As if of Earth he ceased awhile to be 
And held communion with Infinity. 

In fact a creature so differing from you, 

In vain you have tried his nature to construe. 

Physical type pronounces you akin. 
But oh, how opposite the life within! 

Needs on his soul in those hours of musing wait. 
Transcending thy power to appreciate. 

You may have deem'd him alone in his moments apart 
From the contact of man, — if so, mistaken thou art. 

44 



BY BERNARD GRADY 



A spirit pervades those spots where he seems alone, 
And gives them a life essential to his own. 

He is no less than a favor'd child of the Muse, 
And bathes his soul in her refreshing dews; 

Who lifts his eyes beyond this passing scene. 
To catch a glimpse of Heaven's fadeless sheen. 

So let him dream — for lowly Earth may rise 

On wings of some his thoughts till it cleave the skies. 

December 13, 1905. 

WHAT IS MY LIFE? 

What is my life ? I have not your love; — 

What were all the treasure of the Earth beside ? 

To me it could no blessing prove. 
With this one gift denied. 

What can it mean but a weary flight 

Of empty years ? whose raven wings are all too slow 
In bringing on that unconscious Night, 

Whose kindly touch shall lull my woe. 

In vain your sun shines bright, O Day! 

Upon my head; or your sweet-scented zephyrs blow; 
In vain you spring, O flowers of Mayl 

Though once I loved you so! 

But ah! since then a fairer form 

Has filled my eye and left no room for aught beside; 

45 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Forgive my heart! *tis not less warm 
Than then, but solely occupied 

By one less mindful of me than you; 

Yet won me from you — and all that e'er could please 
Ere its beauty met my view, 

To be the shrine of my loyal knees. 

O could I return to that olden time 

Before my Jieart had narrowed the orbit of its love! 
And barred the portal to joy's clime, 

By fixing one object therein to move. — 

When people and things could win its affection, 

And fill each passing day with more for which to live, 

And just beyond that Present's benediction 
Stood the future, with so much to give! 

But one bright dream had not then come 

To eclipse the rest, and then — yes, then — itself to fade; 
Whose very conception was fraught with doom! 

What did I, Eros, this curse should be laid ? 

January I, 1906. 

DAY BY DAY 

Gaining a little day by day, 

In the way that leads to purer living. 

Despite these lusting bonds of clay, 
And all the soul's arrayed misgiving. 

46 



BT BERNARD GRADT 



Subduing self and its attributes, 
Which sadly hinder man's advance, 

And feed him on their bitter fruits, 

What time he yields to their fatal trance. 

Learning pursuit of baser things 

But wakes in the heart it pleased, disgust, 
Which resolves itself into timely wings, 

On which we mount above our lust; 

But by degrees, as the nestling learns 
To gently tempt the unknown air. 

Which soon its strengthened pinion spurns, 
As confidence replaces fear. 

Nor need is there to despair because 

At times we mark not the gain we make; 

For 'tis as true as Nature's laws. 
That upward steps we daily take. 

Think how slow the coral grows, 

Deep buried beneath the ocean's waves. 

And how its beautiful branches compose 
A million animalcula's graves; 

Whose purpose is seen but in their death, 
Which like their life is not in vain. 

For when we pluck their sepulchral wreath. 
Beauty and Art are in the gain. 

Each forward step — each Virtue acquired, 
Which marks the growth of Mind and Soul, 

47 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Denotes some Passion at last out-warred, 
And taught to submit its blighting control. 

And thus like the coral the temples we build 
Are founded on graves — on Passions subdued; 

With which we warred until they were killed — 
Until we had drunk their hearts' best blood! 

We will not retreat! but still war on 

And gain new ground each coming day; 

Until the Morn of our triumph shall dawn, 
And eternal peace succeed to the fray. 

January 10, 1906. 

PREVIOUS DISPOSITION 

By some cold critic I may be reproved, 

Because full oft 'twas Love my lyre has moved; 

Why not dispose of him in anticipation. 

And save him the trouble of his declamation ? 

I might bid him turn to Greece's lyrical son — 

Beloved of the amorous Muse — Anacreon; 

And note the theme which did his pen engage. 

And kindle with delight his matchless page; 

'Twas Love! and hence the charm of what he wrote. 

Whose accents down the brow of ages float. 

And Byron's master stanzas charm us so. 

Because they breathe with Passion's fiery glow. 

But for the pow'r of Love — how sad to thee! 

Without its richest verse the world would be. 

Or what writes Wilcox in these latter times, 

48 



BY BERNARD GRADY 



Comparing with her early love-born rhymes ? 

I tell you they shall still enrapture the heart, 

Though all her host of didactic ones depart! 

The claims of the Muses always best appeal 

Addressed to the heart; — the source of what we feel. 

Let bard no more the heights of Parnassus ascend, 

When Love forgets with the chords of his harp to blend I 

For dull and pulseless and uncolored all 

Are thoughts the mind, free of the heart, can call. 

These respirations of my youthful pen 

Most part are sentimental; — but what then ? 

The facts concerning poesy all prove 

The kind that best can please is that of Love. 

Should my Muse again unfurl her wing, 

I shall, as best I can, attempt to sing; 

And though within the heart the subject rise, 

*Tis well; — its source I never can despise. 

January 1 4, 1 906. 

TO HIS MAJESTY, THE SAFETY-PIN 

Although we've been acquainted long, 

And other themes my pen has done, 
Not once have I burst into song 

To count the honors thou hast won. 



And thus it is we oft neglect 
To give a word of kindly praise 

To what deserves our best respect. 
And proves the stay of needy days. 

49 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Thus far I've lived a bach'lor's life, 
Which is of some discomforts cursed, 

But dawns its day of deepest strife 
When from their places buttons burst! 

And oh! thou e'er didst intervene 
To save me from embarrassments; — 

Wert ever near to come between, 

When buttons severed from my pants. — 

Have held me up as best you could. 
When other friends have turned aside 

From my distress, and heartless stood. 
On whom, in thought, I had relied. 

Some day I may be married, and 

Most likely will discard you then; 
But while I live I never can 

Forget how true a friend you've been! 

And this event, if it transpires. 

May not defeat our intercourse. 
For husbands, if they be not liars. 

At times still make thee their resource. 

January 1 6, 1906. 

WHAT A MAN SHOULD GIVE 

A man should give more than merely a name 
To her who gives him her heart and its love; 

50 



BT BERNARD GRADY 



To manhood he should have established a claim 
SuflBcient that gift's protection to prove. 

His name should be honored where spoken of men, 

In token of worth its bearer has shown 
In moments of trial. How behaved he then ? 

With the best of his fellows held he his own .? 

Is he working out some purpose in life 
Whose end is Honor, Fortune, or Fame ? 

If so, thou art safe in becoming his wife 
And shall do well in owning his name. 

For his is the way that leads to the best 

That life can give to the earnest soul, 
Which denies the right on its laurels to rest 

While remains unchallenged a higher goal. 

And oh, what chance to develop the good 

And beautiful traits thy nature reflects. 
And give greater scope to thy womanhood, 

To consort with a man a Lord of his sex! 

The man makes the name the bright thing it may seem. 
Its charm is not native but simply a dower; 

In him who bears it exists the beam 

Which reflects on his title a grace and power. 

Thou hath not gain'd in exchanging thy name 

For one of a listless son of the Earth, 
Who not as yet has asserted his aim 

To prove to the world his genius and worth. 

51 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Then be not content with merely a name; 

Demand of thy suitor a supplement 
Of worth, or promise of worth, with the same, 

Before thou pitchest with him thy tent. 

February 4, 1 906. 

REJOICE WITH ME 

Rejoice with me that I am young! 

As I rejoice with all who are; — 
With all whose hearts are lightly strung, 

And quickened by an inward fire, 
Which prompts each action, right or wrong, 

Of which it stops not to inquire. 
O careless, trusting time of youth! 
When only heart-throbs measure truth. 

O pardonable illusion, thou. 

Which led some men to sweetly dream 

Of a hidden Fount where Age might bow 
And bathe, and her lost youth redeem; 

But difF'rent youth it did endow — 
Which knew no end to her regime; 

And Time, her fickle paramour, 

She spurned, and exiled from her shore. 

Alas! we know 'twas but a fable, — 

That only prudent living can 
Disclose the means by which we're able 

To stay this period of man; 

52 



BT BERNARD GRADY 



But youth to prudence is a rebel; 
Then how shall we apply the plan ? 

Youth, thou suicide! be thou more tame; 
By thy excesses thou devour'st thy flame. 

And now is the glowing time of Love; 

O! who shall spurn that time's strange power? 
Tho' fatal to future peace it prove, 

Of all our life 'tis the sweetest hour. 
Who cares for love that cannot move 

The heart ? the kind which is the dower 
Of Age, when sentiment is dead. 
And the passionless mind controls instead. 

Small cares the days can bring me now, 
With bonny youth yet by my side; 

1 deem no cloud shall dark this brow 
While in my heart she doth abide; 

When I would weep, she contrives somehow 

To circumvent the rising tide. 
And sends some pleasure to divert 
The heart that fancied it was hurt. 

April 12, 1906. 

HEART DESOLATION 

O for a great love of a great woman, 
To enter my life and reclaim its forces 
From the nightmare of their lawless courses, 

53 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



To a plane above the vulgar human! 

Is the cry my heart multiplies in vain, 

Then dashes into intemp'rance again. 

Will she ever come ? or is she lost to Earth, 

And on some other Planet has her birth ? 

At times Fve thought her a fabled creation, — 

A vision of the heart in its desolation; 

And again in misty distance I seem to trace 

Her seraph form, as she walks to my embrace; 

And when she is here, good-by to the siren throng, 

With hearts for whomsoever comes along. 

*Twas folly, my heart, to fancy for long that these 

With their false and transferable affections could please; 

From the first thou demanded a truer glow 

Than negotiable bosoms can e'er bestow. 

Though their arts engaged thee for awhile — 

The softened word and mechanical smile, 

Thou art sick of it all; yet where canst thou flee 

In all the wide world that these shall not be ? 

Yet hope thee; as the Pharaoh's daughter 

Found Moses cribbed beside the water. 

And saved him from her father's brute decree, 

So yet may this true woman rescue thee; 

And give thee in her great pure heart a home, . 

Beyond whose gates thou ne'er shalt care to roam; 

By which the palace of the Egyptian king 

That housed the Hebrew babe were a paltry thing. 

And irrigated by her great womanhood's love, 

Thy desert shall become as the Vale of Nile, 

54 



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Br BERNARD GRADT 



Where harvest upon harvest doth swiftly move, 
By nature's novel plan of enriching the soil. 
No more would rise thy cry for mortal need, 
Her love would be thy universal creed, 
Solving the problems Life and Death array, 
And robbing Skepticism of its prey. 
Cry on, my heart, who could reverse thy fate 
Has heard thee not; or else she tarries late. 



April 29, IQ06. 



THOSE EYES OF BLUE 

Turn away from me those eyes of blue. 

For oh! there's danger in their gaze; 
The greatest danger man e'er knew, — 

The pow'r to bless — the pow'r to craze. 

None meet them to depart their ways 
As calm as they had been before; 

Upon the heart their image preys, 
As sweetheart's eyes watch from the shore 
The ship which hence her lover bore. 

Too long for future peace, I fear. 

Those eyes have looked into my own, 

If these disquietudes which stir 
My heart, true witnesses depone. 
O sweetest eyes! come and atone 

The deed, and give me back my peace, 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Or else my presence but prefer, 
And joy is mine beyond increase, 
A joy no wealth of Earth could lease. 

May 1 6, 1906. 

A PASSING FACE 

You looked into my face and passed your way, 

Which has not been my own since that sweet day. 

And oh! the thought it nevermore may be. 

Is fraught with sorrow to this heart of me. 

O Time and Fate, shall our two paths twice blend, 

Ere we this mortal pilgrimage do end ? 

No one saw our greeting, yet we spoke. 

As ship hails sister ship, our souls awoke, 

And silently embraced; then tenderly 

Put each away, perhaps till Eternity; 

Well knowing the while we were each other's own, — 

Kindred as two roses one bush has blown. 

To the hard law that Circumstance had made 

For us, we bow'd, though times I did upbraid 

This false God, for cruel as Death is he, 

And makes things other than what they should be. 

To conquer him the soul must battle do 

So great that the victorious are but few. 

And, unknown one, I've thought if down life's track 
We could have gone the journey arm in arm, 

56 



BT BERNARD GRADT 

On more refulgent deeds I might look back, 
Which love of you had led me to perform. 
This was denied me, and even your name and sphere, 
But to know you are, makes the Universe more dear. 

June 15, 1906. 

LOST 

Oh, for the woman my fathers knew! 
Whose heart to the call of her sex was true; 

And lived her destined life. 
No more she deems it her chief duty to be 
A mother with children aplay at her knee, — 

A loved and loving wife. 

Behold to-day! she's abroad in the world. 
By the side of man her banner is furl'd. 

Pitting herself 'gainst strife; 
Crowding him out from the things he has done 
Through all the hundreds of years that are gone, 

Unfulfilling her life! 

Acquiring a bold and masculine front. 

In place of the ways which were her wont, — 

Transmuting her woman's nature; 
Becoming a man in thought and in deed. 
Which is to descend from a flow'r to a weed, — 

From a pure to a vulgar creature. 

Once man could retreat from himself and his cares 
To that inviolate kingdom of hers, — 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Of wife and motherhood; 
Whose Hfe was all apart from his own, 
To the sin and strife of the world unknown; 

And have his strength renewed. 

And then to the call of his life go out, 
With heart more pure and sweet and stout. 

For what was left behind. 
To cheer again his return at eve 
With love which knows not to deceive, 

And which we do not bind. 

Poor man! these things are sadly chang'd, 
And woman's thought from home estrang'd, 

Which now becomes a name; 
And yet they say it holds him not. 
And that his duty is forgot, 

Nor own themselves to blame. 

For her who ne'er has known the bliss 
That lives within her baby's kiss. 

My heart runs o'er with tears; 
For she has missed the sweetness of life, 
And with her nature been at strife, 

And great are her arrears. 

I'd say to her with desires to achieve 
Some position which Fame shall interweave 

With his uncertain self; 
For which her name will ring a day, 

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BY BERNARD GRADT 



Then like a bell tone fade away, 
Go put them on a shelf! 

Let Nancy Stair's solution of life, 
Who denied her genius to be a wife, 

With babies at her breast, 
And put away her much-loved pen 
That she might be a mother of men. 

For you the question test. 

That there were more such women as she! 
Scotland! art thou not proud to be 

The land that gave her birth ? 
Who gave you song, and more, her blood 
Transmitted in a holy flood. 

In legacy to earth. 

That unborn son of yours may shame 
In deeds the greatest prev'ous name, 

Which hist'ry hands us down; 
Thetis' son may disrepute. 
Or e'en a Caesar's fame refute. 

Though great be their renown. 

For him the world is dying fast. 
Oh! bear him ere the need be past, 

Which he the best can fill; 
Behold therein your noblest work, 
Nor more aspire to petty clerk. 

And bid your heart be still. 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



You cannot still its cry for children! 
And know ye 'tis a mighty omen 

No woman can afford 
To spurn; though all the world be given, 
Not till in child-birth she has striven 

Shall happiness reward. 

June 30, 1906. 

TWO WORDS 

There are two words which do convey 

Unto my soul supremest doom, 
And were they tangible, I'd slay 

And place them in the deepest tomb. — 

The crime of Cain reiterate, 

And think as Brutus that the deed, 
Like his to Caesar, were expiate 

In the prevalency of its need. 

These fatal words are these, "He failed"; 

Alas! of man they should be said, 
Whose obstacles should be assailed 

And crushed e'en as the serpent's head. 

And only have men failed because 

They lacked the knowledge of their power 

To overwhelm all hostile laws 
And circumstances of the hour 
60 



BT BERNARD GRADY 



Wherein they wrought; which known, they'd scorn 

The instruments of their defeat, 
And wish they ne'er had been born 

Than such profound reproach to meet. 

Should the wolf dispute the lion's path 
And drive him from his purposed way, 

Who in his hour of anger hath 

The pow'r to make all beasts his prey, 

How should we scorn that lion! and take 

From him his ancient reputation; 
But he's self-known, nor e'er will quake 

And lose his dignity of station. 

The man who fails deserves like scorn. 

As easily as the lion defeats 
His enemies, each man that's born 

Can crush the obstacles he meets. 

His pow'r is greater than the gods 

Which olden Greece and Rome adored, 

For'they have held their last synods, — 
Past mortals' call forever soared. 

At least did ne'er exist but in 

His fancy, which created them; 
And the creator needs have been 

Yet greater than his peopled realm. 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



He has awakened from his night 
Wherein to plural gods he bow'd, 

And seeing with a clearer sight, 
But one true Deity allow'd. 

Oh, let him not disgrace Him then, 

By ill-directing the energies 
Which he hath amply given men 

To use in their necessities. 

His highest creature was not made 

To turn aside from hindrances, 
More than the avalanche hath play'd 

Around its course's rocks and trees. 

But dashing through them sweep along 

Undaunted till the goal is won, 
While they shall bruised and bleeding throng 

And ask the way that he has gone. 

The man who fails commits a crime 
On which no pardon doth await; 

Not in Eternity nor Time 
Shall that offense be expiate. 

How should he fail whom God has given 
Such ample pow'r with which to win .? — 

A mind almost as high as heaven. 
Though oft debased to depths of sin. 
62 



BT BERNARD GRADY 



Oh, may the day come quickly on 

When man shall know his proper power, 

Then on his efforts there will dawn 
Success; and failure fly his bower. 

Shall those same words be said of me 

Who here my hate for them declare ? 
Ah no, it must not — shall not be! 

Their ignomy I will not share. 

September 2, 1906. 

YE SILENT STRINGS 

Composed upon viewing a collection of stringed instruments 
In the National Museum at Washington. 

Collected here from many climes, 

Ye strings of other days, 
Fm dwelling now upon the times 

That echoed to your lays; — 
The days that Minstrelsy did live 

To lighten care with song, 
And call man forth full oft to give 

Himself to Pleasure's throng: 

^ Ere love of gold preferred its claim 

And vetoed lighter arts. 
Ere it enslaved in awful shame 
The tuneful notes of hearts, 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



And transformed man to a machine 

To manufacture gold, 
Which is the end — his life the mean; 

How basely is it sold! 

Ye silent strings, where are the hands 

That once thy numbers told ? 
Do they strike chords on other strands 

On instruments of gold ? 
Did their souls' taste for music grow 

Beyond your pow'r to yield. 
Till ye consented they might go 

And seek an equal field ? 

Where are the lips that love's sweet note 

In ecstasy did breathe ? 
Does Love still on its object dote. 

Or is this death a Lethe ? 
And where those eyes ? — forever closed ? 

No more acquaint with tears ? 
Answer, Death! 'twas you deposed 

The beauty which was theirs. 

Arouse, ye drowsy strings, and tell 

Me as in tears I gaze. 
Where are the hearts that once did swell 

Unto thy buoyant lays ? 
Beyond the placid sunset shoals 

Did Death their home bestow, 

64 



Br BERNARD GRADY 



Where ignorance no more controls, 
And they life's myst'ry know ? 

Reply of you in vain I seek, 

Ye deeply-slumb'ring strings; 
Will ye no more forever speak, 

Ye speech-disdaining things ? 
Or would your tones break in a wail 

Too sad to greet my ear, 
For times and forms beyond the Vale 

Where floweth mortal tear ? 

Adieu, sleep on, your work is done; 

And no mean work it was; 
Ye gladdened hearts: beneath the sun 

Preferred is he who does. 
If aught ye know of their abode 

Who once your patrons were. 
No more I ask it be bestowed 

Upon my hungry ear. 

In His good time Who knoweth all 

Much shall unfolded be. 
Of things which darkly now befall, 

And puzzle you and me. 
And I believe He lets us see 

As far as it were good; 
And where the limitations be, 

*Tis best for us they should. 

September 7, 1906. 

6s 



WAIFS, OR POEMS 



DO WE DIE BUT ONCE? 

Must one forego his breath and lie 
A senseless form before man's gaze 

Ere he be credited to die ? 
Ah no! death comes in other ways. 

Not till reclining on our bier 
Do we confess to mortal death; 

But oh! the deaths that often tear 
The soul, untestified in breath. 

For there be lips that scorn to ope 
And tell the anguish that's within; 

Those who prefer alone to cope, 
And unassisted fall or win. 

And many graves their spirits know, 

From which, Christ-like, they rose again, 

To live despite the taunt and blow 
Of crucifying fellow men. 

Scarce man has lived but has not been 

A murderer! maybe unhung, 
And yet full guilty that dark sin. 

For words or deeds of his that stung 

To death the heart on which they fell. 

And this death's violence passeth that 
Which e'er to eye was visible. 

Where signs of common death have sat. 

66 



BY BERNARD GRADT 



For some do pass as peacefully 

As sink to sleep the weary; 
Embrace their change so gracefully 

We scarce would wish them tarry. 

But like to pangs of that sharp kind 

Dropp'd from the womb of Gethsemane, 

Where agony did exit find 

In excrement of blood's degree, 

Are these same deaths we inly die. 

They are no bastard progeny! 
Would'st speak with them when they draw nigh ? 

They'll answer to — Gethsemane! 

Gethsemane! wilt thou ne'er cease 

To get thee more posterity ? 
Hath not thy bountiful increase 

Attested thy fertility ? 

I must be careful lest I kill 

By some unkindness or neglect, 
Or ills ingratitudes distil, 

Some spirit meeting my contact. 

For some are tender as the first 
Frail flower that salutes the spring; 

At lightest shocks their heart strings burst; 
They vibrate to each passing sting. 

Such depth of sensibility 

Their finer temper'ments contain, 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



That acts of slightest enmity 
Present to them aspects of pain. 

This death's rare wealth in Precedent 

Extenuates its bitterness 
To us in order consequent, 

For His great sympathy doth bless! 

I crave it for the fellowship 

Its visitation guarantees 
With Him who to his conquer'd lip 

Press'd death's sharp cup of agonies! 

And as in that dark hour was given 

The strength to conquer over pain, 
When I have similarly striven, 

His aid shall not be sought in vain. 

I not disdain the sepulchers 

That in my bosom find repose: 
They represent spent blood and tears 

And triumphs that a spirit knows! 

We die, but like the Phoenix rise 

From our own dust, in grand defy, 
And purified, since all dross dies 

In tests where essence must reply. 

October 15, 1906. 

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BY BERNARD GRADT 



SPECTATOR OR SPECTACLE 

I would not choose to walk the way of life 

Without a thorn to wound my treading feet, 
For if it have no fellowship with strife, 

The rest it leads unto will be less sweet. 
The travail of our efforts discipline 

The quality of joy the harvest yields, 
And that which costs us little pain to win 

The highest charm of its possession steals. 

I would not sit in Fortune's sunny halls; 

No soulful physic flows from cups of ease; 
But they who answer duty's hallow'd calls, 

And to no other Goddess bow their knees. 
Perform a pageant on life's highway 

More grand than those by kings and princes made. 
In ostentation of some special day 

Which doth in newer honors to them trade. 



For what do such denote but vanity ? 

They satisfy the eye but not the soul; 
But in the strivings of humanity 

Are pageantries our truest parts extol! 
And they pass not away with the beholding, 

Like petty things that merely entertain 
The pilgrim hour that chances their unfolding. 

And for their levity, unnamed again. 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



But do incorporate themselves into 

Each particle of truth the world contains, 
And on all senior truth fall like a dew 

And kiss its harden'd face to softer strains: 
For from its first encounter truth is fresh, 

Nor dreams how oft the foe will test its steel, 
But often-tried, its aspect waxeth harsh 

And menacing to all seeks its repeal. 

And since in truth they carry heavy stock. 

Our noble deeds defy oblivion's power; 
To Time's wide-cance'ling agents give the mock. 

And swear attendance on his latest hour. 
Who piled on high the mighty pyramid 

Did pageantry that awes this distant day, 
And ancient Greece and Rome our wonder bid. 

Such world-inspiring pageants were they! 

In life we are Spectators or Spectacles; — 

The passing pageant or looker-on: 
Like lusty harvesters throw in our sickles, 

Or imitate the idle bee, call'd drone. 
Who would not rather do the deed than shout 

In praise of it when other hand has done ? 
We have our choice, and lay our own course out. 

Spectator or Spectacle — star or sun. 

I seek the place where things shall sternly prove 
My naked worth; and they shall acids be, 
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BT BERNARD GRADT 



Whose action is false surface to remove; 

O subject me to their sharp chemistry! 
And as they eat away the false in coin, 

If it contain compound of counterfeit, 
So my defective parts they shall disjoin 

From what is substance and will not submit. 

Yes, place me where the battle is the strongest! 

Where obstacles on ev'ry side abound; 
On that same field whose conflict lasts the longest, 

There is the only consecrated ground! 
There I, contending, may do pageant 

That shall suggest man past his best endeavor; 
Create resolve in who are diffident. 

And falsify the limits some discover. 

October 23, 1 906. 

A TRIBUTE TO TRUST 

No mathematician can ever compute 

The sum of the good that trusting has done; 

The harvests of lives that have come to their fruit 
From the sun and showers of trusting alone! 

Where native ambition is never at flood. 

Foreboding scant fraughtage on some life's tide. 

The physic of trust augmenteth the mood. 

Till deep-drawing craft on its channel may ride. 

The stars I have reached in number and brilliance 
Would fill a less firmament far than they do, 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



And more of my days been wedded to dalliance, 
Had trust ne'er revealed her face to my view. 

I thank the blest soul, or souls it may be. 
For that rare moment enlinked with the past. 

Which argued to them some fulfilment in me, — 
Some unmatured fruit they sought to foretaste. 

For then I became an heir to their trust, — 
The kindliest spur ever urged me on. 

Whose prickings I deem in effect most just. 

And without them should have fewer miles gone. 

To the fire my bosom's ambition enkindled. 
That trust of theirs was a fuel most rare; 

Unnourish'd of which it might have low-dwindled, 
And finally died in the lap of despair. 

But the trust they reposed I could not disappoint, 
However my heart its own int'rest excused; 

When my energy lagged their belief did anoint 
And the spirit that won into me infused. 

'Twill be a small char'ty in you or in me. 
But an alms in riches surpassing all rate. 

To regard each man as a personal fee. 
Sometime to be paid to our trust's estate. 

The debt will assuredly meet reimbursement. 
If long enough Death withholdeth his check; 

72 



BT BERNARD GRADY 



Surer of port than Antonio's shipment, 

On which he loaned money and which endured wreck. 

The moneys we loan oft never return, 

Like Custer who rode on his blundering raid; 

The notes we indorse, the owners oft spurn, 
And the forfeits from our coffers are paid. 

But never will man discountenance give 

To the fee our trust exacteth in deeds; 
And the recompense we may hope to receive 

Shall balance whatever trust's meter reads. 

Our trust is too selfish; too closely it keeps 

To its comfortable room in the house of the heart; 

And lacking its visit some energy sleeps, 
And subtracts its due from life's busy mart. 

It needs to be tutor'd to bounteous uses, 

Like the torrent-swell'd Nile it should learn to dilate. 
Till over the banks of the heart it rushes 

And delivers increase to the human estate. 

And never did Nile's rich Valley produce 

Such harvests as then their hands would deliver; 

And the souls whose trust made their lives so profuse 
Shall rival in good that remarkable river. 

I propose a new party whose issue shall be, 
More trust in men! whose politics fail 

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WAIFS, OR POEMS 



Because in the sev'ral platforms they decree, 
This plank is exempt from the carpenter's nail. 

He may slay his mind in search of the way 

By which to advance his political state, 
And all his methods conduct him astray. 

Till his heart instructs him trust is the gate. 

November 8, 1906. 

THE DEAD 

My heart, cannot the present your attention stead. 

That ye anon turn longingly unto the dead, 

As ye would pluck them back from their removed abode 

To do again the labors of this earthly road ? 

They are delivered, as the mother from the pain 

Of her first-born, or heavy cloud that bursts in rain. 

But some deliveries are dear and often kill 

Who do deliver and who help'd the act fulfill. 

Ask the young husband who has yielded up his bride 

When scarce the vows were cold which link'd her to his side, 

And seen a happy future shorten'd to a year. 

With life unpropertied to him forever here! 

'Tis likely he can tell you what deliv'ry means 

To those with int'rest in the subjects of such scenes. 

And I should happy be that they no more are torn 

By thorns which flourish here and in our hearts are worn. 

But O! their points are sharper since the ear is dull 

74 



BY BERNARD GRADY 



Which did receive the heart beyond retention full — 

Whose comfort -yielding voice is hearken'd for in vain — 

Whose magic touch is absent from the spot of pain: 

They were so necessary to our fortitude! 

We might the firmer stand had they beside us stood. 

But as some frailer tree emplanted near an oak, 

Which one day falls to earth beneath the woodman's stroke, 

Is left without protection from the storm's attack. 

Are we who in our woes the fallen bulwark lack. 

And heavily we sigh in mem'ry of the arms 

Which once did corral us from all approach of harms. 

And so my heart oft flies its duty to the living 

To speak the dead: I hope the crime may be forgiving. 

Who are the dead ? Are they not also days or places — 

The nurs'ry tale or fickle friendship's empty vases — 

The beauty that did make a Goddess of a mortal. 

And which we've seen escape by some remorseless portal — 

Maybe the echo of those silver-pealing chimes 

Emitted from some living heart in absent times — 

Perhaps the word of love that tremb'ling found expression. 

Or rapture of the heart that answer'd its vibration; — 

That we recall as though their subjects too were dead, 

Because no more we banquet on their meat and bread. 

And thus the living are the dead in their remove — 

In the inconstant orbits fashion'd by their love. 

Unnamed, recallest thou those early-blighted days, 
Which briefly join'd together — then divorced our ways .? 
Dost think they ever will a resurrection know .? 

75 



WAIFS, OR POEMS BYBERXARD GR^iDY 

That in their ashes doth a spark of essence glow : 

Or Love may yet awake them from their fair youth's s:rave 

And from a funher separating .Angel save ? 

Or that they too are disembodied and interred 

Beyond the pow'r of Love's reanimating word ? 

I can but hope; and if they are forever fled, 

I here confess my heart is often with the dead! 

W ho e'en from the perspective of the tomb attract 

And from a vital present's needs our thoughts extract. 

The dead I can they be dead who thus the living draw? 

In them must linger yet some share of life's sweet law. 

December 2, 1906. 



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